Feeling
by Tiva4evaxxx
Summary: Another post Strawberries and Cream oneshot for the collection. ""I don't expect you to understand," he said coldly" Jane and Lisbon talk about it. Jisbon.


**Back into the realms of semi angsty jisbon one shots. I think i might actually cry, i've missed this! This didn't turn out the way i wanted it to, at all. I know it's just another post Strawberries and Cream thing, i'm sure there have been many, but i wanted to kinda add this to the collection. Really extremely very unsure about this. But i hope you enjoy it anyway. For the record, i don't actually want this to happen on the show. Something similar perhaps... but not this. I don't know. Nevermind. Hope you enjoy it, thanks to Hay for putting up with me and proof reading. **

**Disclaimer: I own nothing, i'm just sorta praying they do next season right. **

The interrogation room was dim, familiar. He must have sat in here a hundred times. But this time the thought of it left him with a bitter taste in his mouth. It was interesting how he'd been waiting for this day for what seemed like forever, and now he was finally here it felt unreal. He was unfeeling. Completely numb. No relief, no happiness. Just nothingness. If he'd cared enough he would have wondered whether it would be like this for the rest of his life, the nothingness inside.

The cuffs were beginning to chafe around his wrists, he realised. But it was only in the back of his mind really, just another thing on the outside. He felt as though his whole life had collapsed in on itself in the space of simply a few hours. But now he could suddenly see, where he couldn't before. It was cruel really, that he could see now, now he'd killed Red John, so much better than he could see before.

There was a guard on the outside of the door, that he knew. He could hear the low hum of the CBI outside the doors. Business as usual. He'd always wondered how that was possible, how everyone on the outside could continue when the world appeared to have just stopped. But then again, if the world stopped every time that happened for anyone in the world nobody would ever move at all.

The bustle and movement of the outside world jolted him out of his own head as he heard yelling and protest in the background, and then he felt something, a sudden sinking feeling of dread tightened inside of him as he recognised the voice and it finally brought home what he'd actually done.

A few seconds later, she burst through the door, "Just do it," she'd glared at the protestors, before promptly shutting the door in their faces.

He took the sight of her in, he didn't know when he'd be seeing her again, his eyes swept over her, her dark hair messy and her clothes stained in blood. He realised what the protest must have been about now as he saw the sling her arm was in and the hidden pain in the tensed muscles of her face. And her eyes. Fiery and dark with so much emotion in them all at once. He sympathised and envied her all at once, so much emotion in such a small space of time. Her eyes flickered between them, the anger was ever present, bubbling through in the surface but underneath, in more subtle tones was the hurt and the pain. The sadness.

She couldn't even look at him.

She was shaking slightly, he realised, struggling to stay in control, keep those emotions that anyone who didn't know her as well as he did wouldn't recognise in check. Her hands fumbled clumsily in her pocket, and she still didn't look at him as she shakily retrieved a key and threw it carelessly across the table at him.

"I'm not talking to you while you're chained up," she told him. But she still didn't look.

She listened instead of watched as he fiddled with the keys, trying to keep taking deep breaths. Steady her hands, steady her heart. Keep those stupidly raging emotions in check. Her shoulder was giving her grief, but her heart was giving her more.

"Are you going to look at me?" he asked, she could feel his eyes fixed on her as she so often could, except they both knew it was different this time.

"Why should I?" she shot back at him, her voice deceptively strong, he applauded her. But he didn't miss the slight hitch in her breath as she exhaled, or the slight twitch of fingers as she'd spoken to him. Both indicators of her emotional distress.

He found himself wishing she'd look at him.

"Because you want to."

She tore her eyes away from the door and to him, anger simmering in them as their eyes met for the first time since he'd pulled that trigger. "No," she said, struggling, "No I don't."

"Yet here you are," he said, watching the flash of anger in her eyes, and liking it, because it made him feel something.

Her heart had to be going at a hundred miles an hour, it was racing. And it was quiet enough in here that she was sure if she listened hard enough she would be able to heard it. She wouldn't give him the satisfaction of a reply.

His eyes flickered away from her face for a second to her shoulder, and back again. "Shouldn't you be in a hospital?" His eyes swept over the blood, her blood, and he felt slightly sick to his stomach. Before Red John the most blood he'd seen was on tv, a drop from a paper cut, an accidentally blemish that would be quickly fixed with a band aid. Since him everywhere he turned was dripping with it, crimson coloured stains were everywhere. He hated it most when it was on her.

He wasn't surprised by her bitter reply, "What do you care?"

"Just because I just killed him doesn't mean I don't care about anything anymore," he said, bitterness just about visible in his tone, "It doesn't mean I don't care about you."

"You son of a bitch," she started, tears visible in her eyes, "You didn't and don't care about anything other than getting your revenge," she continued, as he stood up slowly, "well congratulations, you've done it, and you're going to spend the rest of your life paying for it." the tears really were shimmering now, he found himself malicious, wondering how long it would be before the first one fell.

"I can't expect you to understand," he said, "I've always made my intentions perfectly clear, you know that."

"You should have waited for me," she started, angry now, "You should have waited-"

"Right," he said, "Because I'm sure he would have been kind enough to hang around. It wouldn't have mattered, you know that, why are you doing this?"

"Why," she said, incredulous, "Why am I doing this? Why are you doing this? How can you care so little about throwing your life away?" she yelled, knowing she was fighting a losing battle, but determined to fight it to the end.

"I don't expect you to understand," he said coldly. "He killed my wife and daughter, what I did to him was far less than he deserved."

"Three gunshot wounds to the chest," she said stepping around the table and closer to him, "In the middle of a public place, dozens of witnesses."

"I told you, day one, I told you that it would end this way, I don't expect you to understand-"

"What?" she said, her voice wavering, "Because I've never lost anyone, because no one in the world apart from you could possibly know what it feels like to lose someone they love? Because I don't know what it's like to want revenge on someone? The drunk driver who killed my mom walked Jane, on a technicality, so don't you dare tell me I don't understand."

"I'm sorry, but you've known the whole time. I never hid it from you." His calm, collected manner was driving her insane, making her crazy.

"How does it feel?" her words aimed to hurt him, but curiosity crept into them a little more than she'd intended, "Was it really worth all of that? Is it worth spending the rest of your life locked up?"

He looked at her, she trembled ever so slightly at the way he saw straight through her. It was so hard to feel protected when he was around, so hard to keep those walls steady. She noticed the murderous, crazy look in his eye had gone and been replaced by much calmer look, behind the anger in his eyes currently, and already she knew the answer to the question. "It was always going to be me dead, or him dead." He started, looking up at her, shaking his head, "You knew that."

She looked at him tearfully, "You've thrown everything away," she said, unable to hide the emotion in her voice any longer.

"You knew it would happen," he told her.

"Stop saying that like it makes it any better," she yelled at him, "You murdered a man Jane, in cold blood. He was a terrible man, but that doesn't mean that when they put you in front of a judge and a jury you won't get locked up for life." She was screaming now, "And you did it without a second thought, three gun shots they told me, he didn't even have a gun on you."

"He killed my wife and child-" his words were heated now.

"That doesn't make it right!" she yelled, "that doesn't give you the right to take the law into your own hands-"

"He murdered them in cold blood-"

"And you've done exactly what he wanted; now you're a murderer too."

"She was eight years old," Jane said, tears building up fast in his eyes, "And he went much quicker than she did," he said, tears falling fast now.

She looked at him and she saw the pain, and she knew she couldn't argue with that.

"You've thrown it all away," she said, softly, for the first time the full reality of the situation hit her, and she crumpled inside, a whirlwind of emotion knocking everything out of her, leaving her unable to breathe.

"I had to," he said, and she knew he was right. If he hadn't he would have lived that way forever.

She looked at him and the emotion welled up, the past three years, it hurt so much to know that things would never be the same. What she'd give for one day, working a normal case, with Jane being Jane, bringing her coffee and making it impossible for her to be mad at him when he did something stupid. For putting a smile on her face when it otherwise wouldn't have been there.

"I'm so mad at you," she choked, tears marking their path as they rolled down her cheeks.

"I know," he said. He watched her cry and his eyes locked with hers. He should say something now, something that would ruin what they had between them forever and send her running in the other direction. She deserved so much more than this. He should tell her she could never understand, describe every detail as he stood and shot the man who ripped his life apart. He should make her so angry and upset that she would never come back. Because she deserved so much more.

He watched each tear roll down her cheeks, the pain on her face and in her eyes. And instead, he pulled her closer, put an arm around her so her face was pressed into his chest, and ran his fingers through her hair as she sobbed. He breathed her in.

Because he was too selfish to let her go.

**Hmm. I'm still not sure. Nevermind. I guessed Charlotte's age (his daughter) because i wasn't sure, but i don't think i'm too far off, if anyone actually knows or it has been said do let me know! Reviews would of course be hugely appreciated :) i love to know your thoughts. **

**Thanks for reading!**

**Emily xxxxxx**


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